My Monday Morning Quarterback

      Today, this Monday morning at 7:47, I definitely need an alibi.  Both kids are downstairs eating a nutritious breakfast of Waffle Crisp cereal.  We have just confirmed a dentist appointment after school, and now Joey thumps down the stairs in a weighty stumble, sits at the table, and in his sleepy presence is not with us.  I go upstairs to wash up, I've already accepted the fact that I need the extra twenty minutes that the bus does not allow me.
     "Just stay down here with them."  I ask Joe. Which requires almost nothing of him.  I won't even ask him to pull off the seasoned bathrobe sprint to the bus stop a block away.  He grunts at me as he lifts his coffee mug.  Charming as ever.
     I come downstairs ten minutes later.
     "C'mon kids."  I say grabbing my bag.

My quarterback.

    "You know you could have made the bus."  I hear him say as I toss my bag over my shoulder and cover my leopard bathrobe with my jacket and scarf.  Whaaaa?  I think to myself but express strongly in my stance.
      He is sitting at the kitchen table, completely unaware that lunch needed to be packed, snacks picked, and teeth brushed.  He assumed it was all done.  "Alan, did you brush?"  I call over my shoulder.
     "I'm going now." He responds.
     "awww.....that's not fair."  Joe complains.  He needs to learn, just because a nine year old knows to brush his teeth it doesn't actually mean that he'll do it.
     There Joe sat, like a fat Russian wannabe Olympic trainer eating fried chicken, watching me run the hundred meter to the bus stop and complaining that my time was off.  I've been in training for the past six months for this, yet in his stagnant state, he thinks he can take home the gold.
     Today I need an alibi because I can kill over the criticism 'sans' construct.  I am up from four a.m., rushed and weighted down by my son and his "I know, I know...." and "Okay, okay"  in between insignificant squabbling and critical snack selection.  I knowingly miss the bus (and up to the second he opens his mouth) am okay with it.  Then comes the Monday morning quarterback.
    Touchdown- "Can I do anything to help out hon?   Should I walk them to the bus stop?  Are the school books packed?  I'll rinse my coffee mug and put it in the dishwasher."  Would be nice to hear. But what it get goes more like:
     Flag on the play-"the coffee's not strong enough, I slept like a rock last night or (my personal favorite) did someone fart?"  Mick Jagger, I know what you mean, I can't get no satisfaction either.
     I wonder how much any husband would appreciate a pop-in from the wife during a power meeting at work.   She sits and observes a conference call.  Once her husband has put the receiver back on the phone-Shoulda, woulda, coulda made a better deal, gotten a better price, better terms, bigger contract, blah, blah, blah.  Unless you're willing to take action, don't step onto my field.  Actions do more than take up oxygen, they could help out that frazzled mom who for once would love to not drive her kids to school.                                                     
    If I were not so focused on getting the kids to school and avoiding jail over a domestic dispute, I'd hit him over the head and smash him into the shape of a fun-shaped chicken nugget, package him in a foil wrapper and send him to school with the kids.